


Mr. February

by DustToDust



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: Clint's been retired for over half a year before the itching to get back into the thick of things gets to be too much. [WinterHawk Reverse Big Bang]





	Mr. February

**Author's Note:**

> My fic was written for the lovely artwork by Pathulu that I have not been able to do justice with this. All roughness you see here is on me and my mind for wanting to string out 4 different stories but having no idea which direction to take at any given time. Really, the art and idea behind it deserves a better fic than this one. Check this awesome art out: https://pathulu.tumblr.com/post/168414920372/heres-my-submission-for-the-winterhawk-reverse

After Sokovia Clint heads home. Wandering back to the old family farm with a bag of clothes and a look that makes Barney break out the beer. They don't talk until Clint's forced himself to drink half of it, and the thought of one more drink makes him dry heave a little. 

It's easier to talk about what happened after that even if Clint can't look at Barney and has to keep his back to the home where Barney's wife and kids are sleeping. Easier to spit it all out in one long rush as he pushes the cold bottle to his eyes. Unable to block out the memory of that damn kid's cloudy eyes. The smirk that he'd kept even in death as he _fucking_ joked around, as he-

In the morning, when Lila shrieks in delight over finding her favorite Uncle at the table, Clint and Barney pretend that they drank much more than they actually did and that they can't remember a damn thing from the night before. 

Clint tries his best to eat around Lila's squirming and gives the only explanation he can to Laura's gentle inquiry on how long he'll be staying. "I'm retired."

He gets wrangled into the daily chore schedule quickly enough and it keeps him busy up until lunch. Afterwards he argues with Barney about the updating the man wants to do with the dining room before winter. By the time they've both agreed that something needs to be done Laura's got dinner ready, and informs them both that they're not _touching_ the outside walls of the house until they have a solid plan that's been reviewed by her. Twice. The kids fight over which one of them he'll read to until Clint settles on something they'll both like. He passes out in the guest room not long after the kids turn in.

In the morning he repeats it all over again, and it quickly becomes a routine that he doesn't deviate from much as winter comes then turns to spring and then to summer.

Him and Barney don't talk about his retirement or what happened again. They just talk about what needs to be done on the farm and Clint's grateful for the fact that his brother knows him so well. Laura does try to talk about it, but in a very Laura way that isn't as nerve wracking as any of the therapists he's been forced to see over the years. She's family, in a way that only gets reinforced as she grows larger and the due date approaches. The kids don't notice a damn thing, and that suits Clint just fine.

Retirement itself suits him just fine really. Clint's not sure why he hadn't retired earlier.

~

Barney wanders into Cooper's room and crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you doing now?"

"These locks are shitty," Clint doesn't look away from his work. It's not that complicated of a fix, but the windows are as old as the house and the lock change is just a quick bandaid over a larger problem that'll need to be addressed sooner or later. "The first one I changed was so old it splintered apart when I started messing with it."

Barney's silent as he steps forward, but Clint knows all the creaks in the old house and knows exactly where the other man is. The locks he's putting in are metal and less likely to go yellow and brittle under the scorching sun of summer. They're not the best on the market, but they'll do until Clint can set up a dead drop for the really good stuff a few towns over. Well away from the farm and his family. 

He's thinking hard enough about the steps to set it up that he almost misses it when Barney reaches out and begins to knock his fingers against Clint. Under his left armpit, the small of his back, his right knee…. "I don't think you need a backup gun or three to change a perfectly good lock on a window that Coop never opens."

Clint is retired, and retired people don't need to walk around armed. He reminds himself of that every morning when he gets up. A reminder, sometimes verbal, that he did not always heed. Today had been one of those days were the itch between his shoulders hadn't relented until he was armed and checking the defenses Barney and Laura insist they don't need.

"I don't know," Clint tries his best to sound casual as he steps away from the window. "Have you seen the size of the dust bunnies under your son's bed? Pretty sure I'm underdressed for a fight with those things."

"You miss it," Barney says bluntly, because Clint's never been all that good at bullshitting his brother. Protests start to rise in Clint's throat but Barney cuts them all off with a tone of finality that means he won't back down. "Go back, Clint, I don't want to see your jumpy ass around here until Christmas."

Laura brings him the clothes he had in the laundry not long after that and watches him pretend that packing up is taking him longer than the few seconds it took to locate his bugout bag. Everything Clint has is in it already, and it's not just habit that didn't let him fully move in.

"Your head is on as straight as it ever gets," her hug lingers with him longer than the warmth of the two shirts, fresh from the drier, she presses into his hands. "You're just not ready to settle down yet, Clint."

"Yeah," Clint agrees as he carefully hugs her back over the round swell of her stomach. "But it was nice to pretend for a while."

Laura laughs and pulls away to rest her hands on her stomach. She's big enough that she can use it as a resting board, which, as she likes to complain, is the only benefit to being pregnant. "Go, _home_ , Clint. Just don't forget to visit us."

~

Home is a weird concept. Clint hates to be that kind of a cliché, but home has never been a place for him so much as a person. People, really.  
The new Avengers compound has been in full operation for almost a year when Clint strolls into some kind of meeting and asks if they're still looking for a shooter or if any ex-carnie would do. He smirks into the moment of stunned silence that follows before Tony groans theatrically. The sound not covering up his amusement as he demands to know, "Who's picking up strays this time?"

 _Strays_ , Clint figures out, is what the newbies are all being called and that there are quite a few of them. All new to the team, but not to Clint who had seen the pile of rejected candidates when Coulson had first been recruiting for the Avengers. _Falcon. Ant Man. Spider-Man. The Wasp._

All people considered for the first line-up of the team, and then rejected for not having quite the character needed to make funding and running an elite team seem worthwhile to the people who'd written the checks for it. People not seen as controllable --Clint had laughed hard the first time he heard the excuse-- enough to the World Security Council. He sees Hill's influence in the fact that they're all here now. 

For the most part. 

"Barnes, James," the Winter Soldier bites out from behind a curtain of hair, scruff, and an almost feral kind of wariness Clint hasn't seen since he first decided to talk to the infamous Black Widow instead of shooting her.

"Barton, Clint. With a Francis in between," Clint returns with an easy grin even as he shoots a _look_ further down the hall where Natasha is pointedly pretending not to notice the fact that Clint has stumbled over the Winter Soldier lurking in the shadows during his tour of the facility. Clint snorts to himself at that. If she wants to leave him to his own devices it was fine by him. "So, were you ever in the circus?"

"What?" The question isn't expected and startles Barnes. Clint finds himself the unexpected sole focus of a pair of confused baby blues. Which are the same ones that had been measuring him up for a threat assessment not a minute before, but Clint has always appreciated the way confounding a person can change things.

"The circus. Come on, it's one of the two things I got going for me here. If the team already has you sniping for them then I've got to rely on my sordid carnie upbringing to keep my place here," Clint spins the story with a charming grin. Firstly, because it gets Nat to spin on her heels and march back towards them, and, secondly, because Clint's always been a _sucker_ for pretty eyes. 

And former Hydra death machine or not, Barnes has the nicest set Clint has seen in a while. He might be just the slightest bit smitten already. Barnes says nothing in response though. Just stares at him with incomprehension written all over him.

"Your room is this way," Nat seizes his arm and Clint goes with it before she can hurt him. They aren't even a foot down the hall before she starts hissing at him. "I swear to god, Clint. You're not even _five_ minutes back…."

"Hey, technically it's been about thirty," Clint points out helpfully. "I had to talk to Hill first before they'd let me through the gate."

"You didn't climb the fence?" Nat tsks softly in disappointment when she lets him go after a few turns. "Retirement made you soft."

~

The room is larger than the standard SHIELD issued accommodations that he's used to. It's divided neatly in half by an incomplete wall. The front half is a living area with all the essentials. A couch, a TV, and a coffee maker. Everything else that's already there is secondary and might get pitched if Clint feels like it. There's a door, half opened, that leads into a bathroom. Beyond the divider wall, Clint finds a bed and dresser. His eyes zero in on the window, standard sized and nothing at all like the windows in Tony's tower had been.

"So," Clint starts his inspection with the locks. Not plastic thankfully. "The Winter Soldier, huh? Bet that was a fun day."

Not unexpected given Steve's character. Anyone and everyone should have known what he was planning, but knowing something intellectually and actually dealing with it happening are two entirely different things.

"Months," Nat corrects dryly as she folds herself up on the footboard of the bed, balancing there precisely as she watches him. The weight of her eyes is comforting and settles him in a way that no amount of family time on the farm could ever do. Her radio silence during his "retirement" had been pointed and revealing to him. Despite the fact that they'd gone longer than a few months with no contact before, it'd been slowly driving him up the wall. "The team nearly tore itself in half."

"Again," Clint moves from the window and starts to tap on the walls. Testing for density and searching for studs. It's Stark money that built the place so Clint has no complaints so far. 

"Things were said," Nat says cryptically. "They were forgiven, but not forgotten."

Clint can't imagine it. He's seen a few implosions before. The back and forth, no ground given arguments between Cap and Iron Man. He's dealt with it when Wanda had pulled the worst of their fears and insecurities into the open leaving the team to turn on each other. Differences of opinion, culture, time period. Clint's seen the Avengers stumble over it all. It's hard to think that bringing in Barnes would cause worse trouble.

"You should have been here," Nat states with no inflection to her voice. "It would have been better with you around."

Once, years ago, Clint had shared a stale granola bar with a bloodied and exhausted Agent Romanoff. They'd both been too tired and hurt to do more than lean against each other as they watched the way a fire could set a night sky ablaze. He couldn't smell anything past smoke and death, couldn't hear much over a muted ringing that would become permanent. Sometime, between the bar and extraction, he thinks he heard Nat say something that's stuck with him because of how raw and honest it'd been.

_"Somehow, things are always better with you around."_

Clint leaves off examining the wall and sprawls on the bed to give Nat his whole attention. Her words aren't accidental in the least. "Things must've been real bad if you're comparing it to Budapest. Fill me in."

Nat stays still and remote for a few seconds before unwinding and rolling onto the bed. It's hard to find forgiveness in the way the boney part of her knees dig into his side, but Clint knows it's there as she does exactly as he asks.

~

Shitstorm is a very accurate term that Clint ponders as he wanders the facility and notes all the security measures in place.

Security personnel for the compound were fully vetted by many people before any reports even made it to Hill's desk for hiring consideration. Nat told him they are as safe and loyal as anyone can be considered in these days after SHIELD's fall. He might be late to the party but Clint is hardly the only person in the new Avenger's compound to watch the newly hired security with a skeptical eye. 

Or an unimpressed one.

Clint waits for the two man team to pass through the hall he's been inhabiting for an hour. They're talking football and their eyes never even flicker up to where Clint is, or pause to look behind them. Things that Clint tries not to think too badly of them for. They're loyal above all else, but loyalty doesn't mean they're capable of knowing when they're being watched by a couple of fully trained assassins. 

Clint waits for their voices to fade around a corner and their unseen ghost to stop before dropping to the ground. "You ever thought about jumping out and yelling 'Boo!' at them?"

Barnes tilts his head slightly to give Clint an almost hilariously confused look, and not at Clint's presence. "No."

The word raises at the end in a questioning way that makes Clint grin. "You should try it sometime. Helps to train the newbies' reflexes and lets them know they fucked up. Maybe not so good for the heart, but they're all young enough to take it."

The confused look doesn't leave, and Clint can't help comparing it to the furrowed look of concentration that Steve used to regard the rest of the world with when he first started out. Clint's sure the man still uses it, but time and Google have helped immensely in cutting those times down. He wonders how much of the world the Winter Soldier got to learn and understand between running missions and being dunked in ice. 

Barnes doesn't rise to the bait Clint's dangled. He shrugs and shifts on his feet, eyes already tracing the path of the patrol. Clint doesn't bother interfering, he turns the opposite direction and offers a last bit of advice. "Try it sometime. Bullet wounds heal eventually."

There might be a snort of amusement behind him, and Clint takes that as a sign of victory.

~

Barnes, Clint finds out, patrols the compound in a regular but unpredictable pattern. Ghosting behind the people Hill has hired as security, or moving ahead of them. Perfectly timing it to leave an area just before they arrive. It's got security on edge and Hill's had more than a few sharp words to share with Steve over it.

Tony jokingly likens it to a lion in a zoo that prowls its too small cage. Testing it's boundaries and looking to intimidate its captors. Clint thinks he's reaching a bit with that comparison but isn't surprised by it. 

Tony does a pretty good job at covering up the uneasiness he still feels towards having the Winter Soldier on the team with his usual brand of sarcasm and jokes. The way that Vision and most of the tech that has even the slightest capability of artificial intelligence --which is everything when it comes to Tony Stark-- seem to keep tabs on Barnes shows that for the act it clearly is. For all the irreverence Tony can show to pretty much anything and everything it's pretty clear, after only an hour of watching him in the same room as Barnes, that Tony is not in a forgive --let alone forget-- mindset over the death of his parents. Every move Barnes makes is watched and examined closely by Stark.

Steve's got to be irritated by it, but Clint thinks it's a reasonable enough response given all that he knows the Red Room is capable of doing to a human being. That doesn't mean that Clint doesn't know there's a line between cautious surveillance and invasive spying upping the already high levels of tension in an already tense situation. Sure, SHIELD had damn well kept an eye on Clint through his employment, but they'd at least been polite enough not to have the person doing it in his face and poking him every few minutes.

When Barnes shoves away from the corner he'd been propped up in --shoulders tight and his entire body tensed for a fight-- and makes his way out of the common area Clint doesn't need Nat's speaking look to step in. Literally as he puts his foot down on one of the dozen cleaning disc bots that have been circling Barnes all morning. 

The machine beeps shrilly as it attempts to follow the man. Its metal arm extending in a gesture that's almost frustrated but Clint ignores it to fix a look on Tony. "Ease off."

"What now?" Tony doesn't even bother to look over at Clint or the silent exit of Natasha. His tone is flippant and careless, but the cleaning bot stops trying to move away when he flicks a finger against the screen of the pad he's been working on. "I swear I've been a good little boy lately. Not even Santa could fault me for being bad."

"I think you said Satan wrong," Clint lifts his foot and the little bot zooms away. Where to doesn't matter because Clint's now got Tony's attention. "Look, man, I'm the _last_ person to lecture anyone about being overly paranoid-"

Tony barks out a laugh that is both sarcastic and genuine. 

"-but you're crossing the line from watching for a breakdown to actively _causing_ one," Clint knows it. SHIELD had perfected their tactics by the time he'd met up with Loki. The extra surveillance he'd been kept under afterwards had toed that line. Crossing over it only to test his mental state and see how he would react to the feeling of persecution.

Clint has fond memories of punching Sitwell in the face from that time that are only marred by the fact he obviously didn't do it hard enough since the asshole stuck it out with Hydra.

"Of course," false sincerity drips from Tony's voice, and Clint knows he's not going to get any further with the man today. Tony's set into a position and only a few people are able to get him to move when he's this defensive. Clint isn't one of those people. "I'll make sure to tiptoe around our special little snowflake assassin. Don't want his feelings to get hurt."

"Yeah, just like we don't want you to get locked into a cave," Clint says to make Tony flinch. Maybe give him something to think about later when he's alone which is when he seems to do his best thinking. Or his worst. It's always 50/50 with Tony. "I'm not even going to pretend to get anything that's going on here, I just came back man. I'm not going to ask you to give him a chance or whatever else Steve's been telling you to do."

Tony's jaw clenches and Clint hopes like hell that it's exactly what Steve's asked of Tony. He doesn't think Steve's stupid or cruel to tell Tony to get over it, but he's been wrong before.

"Look, all I'm saying is that I kinda know how much it sucks to not be able to control yourself," despite what Clint might have told --in debriefings, to earnest therapists-- he very clearly remembers his time as Loki's lapdog. "And I think that you know all too well what it's like to have part of yourself used to harm others."

Tony goes still. "That’s not the same thing."

"How?" Clint laughs and it's not pretty. 

"Fuck off! That's how," Tony snaps and there's fire gathering in his voice and eyes. The kind that Coulson had warned Nat of when she first went for that undercover mission years ago.

"Yeah, sure, fine," Clint shakes his head and leaves before that fire can break. He knows when to pick his battles and when to retreat.

~

Forgiven but not forgotten.

Clint's not even all that surprised when he wakes up the next morning and finds a calendar nailed to the wall opposite of his door opened up to February despite it being August. Because Tony is Tony and it's no surprise that he'd be able to get his hands on something that even SHIELD hadn't been able to get copies of. The fact that Tony's using it in an obvious prankish way is a bit of a relief. It means he's not all that upset, and might mean that he actually listened to Clint the night before. Maybe.

The calendar is a cheap thing, in more ways than one. Clint had been between jobs and running low on cash when he'd gotten an offer to pose for a "charity" shoot. A charity shoot that had involved him wearing a cock sock --and Clint'd nearly broken a rib or two laughing over that-- and mugging to a camera with a cheap bow that he'd just been happy they hadn't glued glitter or hearts or something to. He hadn't taken any of it seriously and it shows in the picture that was chosen.

Clint's younger looking --cockier and with fewer lines on his face-- and staring almost defiantly at the camera as he draws back on the bow that he'd been sure would snap if he really used it. The angle of the camera and his pose make sure that nothing is really showing, but the suggestion had been what they were looking for. At least that's what the person handing out envelopes of cash to the models at the end of the day had implied. Clint hadn't cared about it past how long the money would last until his next job came up. 

"Huh, I didn't think copies of this still existed," Clint says to the particular brand of quiet stillness only a certain assassin from Russia can create. When the silence stretches too long, Clint grimaces at his own mistake and turns to face the _other_ assassin from Russia. He gets the sinking feeling that it might take him a bit to learn the difference between Nat lurking behind him and Barnes here. "Thought the last bit of this blackmail went down with SHIELD and I'd finally be free to live out my dreams of becoming a farmer for life without the mistakes of my wayward youth to haunt me."

The incredibly _stupid_ joke falls as flat as Barnes' face. It's perfectly expressionless, a mask of calm placidity that's only belied by the way his eyes dart from the wall to Clint and back again. It is, sadly, not the most embarrassing situation he's been in.

"I think they got my good side here, don't you?" Clint quips and is rewarded with a twitching lip.

"Which angle is that?" Barnes asks and there's some playfulness in his words that almost makes Clint want to gasp and clutch at his pearls. "All of them?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that flexibility is just _one_ of the things that come naturally to a carnie," Clint nods to the picture. "We have to know how best to show off our best _ass_ ets after all."

Clint is not at all proud of that one, but it gets him an actual laugh out of Barnes. Something that cuts through the blank look and makes him look human. The man looks back at the calendar again before casting an assessing eye over Clint. "I can see that. Good luck getting these all down."

Barnes is down the hall before Clint registers the flirtation in his words, and he's in a room --probably his-- before the meaning of his words register.

"All?" Clint grimaces and looks down the way Barnes had come from.

About five feet down the hall Clint can see another calendar and another not far beyond that. A scan down the other side reveals the same. Clint's willing to bet that it doesn't end at the hall. It's Tony Stark after all.

~

Clint hates it when he's right.

The damn things are everywhere Clint goes. He gives up on taking the calendars down when he comes across a newly designed Roomba bot. It has a basket welded onto it to carry more and an intricate looking arm that does a fairly good job at flipping open and nailing new ones to the walls. Or windows. Clint snorts as he comes across more than a few windows with cracks spidering through them. Hill was going to have a field day with Tony over that.

Besides, he knows the best way to deal with Tony is by not over-reacting. Showing no reaction is out of the picture as that would simply encourage him to try harder. Trying to take them down and actually showing a little of the embarrassment he feels over it all should be enough though. If he's lucky it'll blow over in about a week. Clint ignores the rest of the calendars and the _looks_ he gets from some of the facility personnel as he decides to check out the range. 

It's a perfect combination of what Clint would expect from any major SHIELD facility and Stark tech. Clint runs a few scenarios that are already programed into the computer, getting an idea for the limits of the place and an inkling that it can be much better if he can figure out the commands. He gets a solid hour of practice in alone before the doors open and Barnes walks in.

The man has a sidearm holstered and is carrying a rifle but he makes no move to get on the firing line. Instead he wanders over to Clint with a question. "What do you do?"

"You mean besides pose nude for pictures?" Clint can't help quipping as he cycles through the targets on the range and nods at the closest one. "You're looking at it."

There's a long silence that Clint uses to select a randomization run for the next set. Barnes is polite enough to wait for Clint to finish before speaking again. Unnecessary but Clint's going to let him figure that out on his own.

"No, that's not what-" Barnes frowns, eyes flickering from target to target. Noting, Clint thinks, the way each arrow is placed precisely in the same position. "What do you _do_?"

Clint's not stupid. He knows what Barnes is asking. He wants to know what kind of superhuman powers Clint has. What amazing ability got him a place on the Avengers?

Coming from Barnes, the question isn't malicious. There's no hint of an insult anywhere in it but it still stings to hear. It always will. No matter what Nat might say, Clint is very aware of how underclassed he is when compared to the rest of the team. He's not gifted or enhanced with any sort of power. Natural or not. All he's got is his eyes and a body he ruthlessly trains to keep up with the others.

"I shoot things," Clint says with a laugh that he can already tell won't pass muster. He rolls an arrow between his fingers and nocks it. He meets and holds Barnes' eyes as he fluidly draws and releases it. Not needing to look to know where it went. "And I don't miss. Ever. That's what I do."

Clint doesn't miss anything as Barnes processes the information. As he's allowed to watch the man process it. He's seen the man's default face enough to know it can be as impenetrable as Nat's when he wants it to be. There's confusion and a kind of lost feeling struggling across the man's face that Clint knows all too well. It's there for a second and gone, but Clint's eyes never miss anything. 

"You're human," Barnes eventually states as he looks Clint over again. His eyes are sharper now though the confusion still lingers. Clint's getting the feeling that slightly confused might be a permanent state for the man the same way it is with Steve. A couple of super soldiers stuck in the future and struggling to catch up. 

"Yup, just a guy with a bow and some arrows," Clint agrees. "Want to see which of us can shoot better?"

"You're insane," Barnes slowly sounds out the words and Clint doesn't disagree with him. 

"If you can keep up with my score, I'll buy you dinner," from the totally free mess hall in the facility because like hell Clint is going to drive an hour just to find some tiny bar in the middle of nowhere. The closest town with a pizza joint was about fifteen miles even further than that. It's the only real down side to the compound's location that Clint has found.

"Yeah?" Barnes sounds skeptical over the whole thing, maybe even the offer. "What do you get if I outscore you?"

"Not happening," Clint resets the targets and graciously moves aside to let Barnes get the first try. He's heard rumors of how good the Winter Soldier is. Exaggerated things that Nat had assured him weren't made up, but he's still confident that no one can outshoot him. 

"Oh really?" The longer Clint talks the more things he see in Barnes that he likes. Like the smirk the man gives him as he casually upholster his side arm, leaving the rifle behind on a stand. "Let's see about that."

Shooting with a guy can let you learn an awful lot about him. Before the first round is over Clint learns Barnes prefers to be called Bucky over anything else, is right handed but left eye dominated, and leans forward into his stance like he's got to remind himself not to charge at the targets. Afterwards he learns the stories of the Winter Soldier really aren't exaggerated, and that there's an ego buried under the man's mask. One that comes out as the targets reset. 

"I'm thinking breakfast now too," Barnes- _Bucky_ says as the score comes up perfect. 

"In bed," Clint agrees as he steps up and waits for the targets to move. "Haven't had anyone do that for me before."

Clint easily matches the score and cranks up the difficulty on the next round. There's no point in doing it by small increments. They're both skilled enough that taking that route would last the whole day.

"What, you mean that you'd bring it in like a maid?" Bucky smirks between shots that don't seem to take much effort for him at all.

Clint steps up because the range is sophisticated enough to keep track of both of their scores. "Oh, good idea. Think they sell maid costumes that'd fit your shoulders?" 

Bucky startles a little but his shot still hits. His eyes slant towards Clint before focusing on the targets again. "I like the costume you wore in that calendar better."

Clint laughs and it doesn't stop him from hitting two spinning targets. "Not happening."

"We'll see."

~

It doesn't happen. They end up being kicked off the range when the program running it shuts down and refuses to activate again. Some sort of automatic lock down that Clint's going to have to figure out how to get around fast. It's a shame they get cut short though because Clint's pretty sure he'd been wearing Bucky down enough to fudge up a shot or two. Clint ends up "buying" them both dinner at the mess hall though and ignores the grumblings of cheating to enjoy the questionable freshness of the food. Square frozen pizza might not have much freshness in it but it's strangely tasty.

"You might as well accept the inevitability of your fate," Clint comments as they leave. The not-so-covert stares of the security and technicians who'd been on break still itching between his shoulders. He's going to have to check with Nat, but he's got the feeling the team doesn't eat there much. "You're going to have to find a costume that fits you."

"You have to actually outshoot me first," Bucky retorts and follows as Clint wanders back to the rooms. He reaches out and takes one of the calendars off the wall and examines it for a long moment. "And I've got a pretty good incentive to not miss."

Clint winks and then makes an exaggerated fishy kiss face. "If you just wanted to see me naked all you have to do is ask."

"I think I'll take you up on that," Bucky says seriously, his tone missing the joking tone most of their flirtation has had. "Maybe after a _real_ dinner. Until then…."

Bucky taps a finger on the calendar and gives Clint a wink before disappearing into the door that is definitely his room. Clint laughs to himself and continues down to his own door. Not even bothered to find more pictures of himself plastered on the door. 

He's got better things to worry about for the moment. Like how to get a proper meal brought into the facility, and which one of the technicians are his best bet for getting override keys from. He can figure out how to get back at Tony, in a way that won't lead to further reprisals, later.

It's not a bad first day back from retirement all things considered.


End file.
